


In a Bow

by Anonymous



Series: Femslash (Friday) [1]
Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Chair Sex, Corset, F/F, Fem!Ori - Freeform, Femslash, Femslash Friday, Girl in a suit, Gratuitous Smut, High Heels, Sex Toys, Strip Tease, Tights, fem!Thorin, lady!Ori, lady!Thorin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-03
Updated: 2013-05-03
Packaged: 2017-12-10 06:46:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/783036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Classy dance. Soft jazz. One lady in a suit, leaning back. One lady in tights, a corset, and a bow. Girl love. Dammit i don't have a summary other than femslash and genderbent and Orinshield and some steamy chair sex. you can see it on <a href="http://pandeimos.tumblr.com/post/49464135778/in-a-bow-thorin-ori-warnings-in-tags">tumblr</a>, don't be shy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In a Bow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ississ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ississ/gifts), [Ibijau](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ibijau/gifts).



> Introducing Femslash Friday. An idea concocted between [raoultiagosilva](http://raoultiagosilva.tumblr.com/), [tagath ](http://www.tagath.tumblr.com/)  
> it is highly possible that i'm the only one doing this. very highly possible. almost a guarantee. almost.  
> also, may i introduce the new [Orinshield](http://www.tumblr.com/tagged/orinshield) tag? term and intense research by [yknow-fuck](http://yknow-fuck.tumblr.com/post/49429244015/okay-so-i-made-orinshield-caps-because-fucking), you beautiful, beautiful person you.

***

Feet, black, glide softly on waxed marble, precariously balancing on the toes. Ever so often, the heel falls back and echoes through the air, mood silent and intense, speakers whispering a soft jazz tune that is almost overshadowed by heavy breathing.

The heel, black, turns, eyes follow the dark line marring the skin of those legs, starting their journey from the tip of the heel, up to the delicate strap, where the lin curves and dances with muscles and skin up, up, upwards and disappears and blends into dark lace garters.

Suspenders, black, hold the fragile tableau together, nothing but flimsy crochetted work themselves, and frame the naked arse swaying before these curious eyes, naked but for the large nlack bow tied just so the crack cleaved it in two.

The corset, black, surrisingly, doesn't hinder the movements, rather it bends with them, decorates them, lends them a flair of _naughtiness_ with its sharp angles, and inability to obey the laws of thermodynamics. The spines, blood red and bejeweled, create a visual illusion of excessive curvaceousness, laces weaved and danced around them. The diminutive tussles at brim of the chest piece shook rhythmically.

Feet rise up to the tip of their toes and spin, slowly, one hundred and eighty degrees, revealing to a curious gaze the curve of generous breasts that dance with every step, every sway, every bow.

Ori bites her lip, widens the gap between her legs. One hand taps at an armrest, the other scratches her inseam, thumb lining the buttons on her crotch, digging in when lips are licked and the red paint shines in the light. Thorin kicks Ori's knees out of the way and makes herself comfortable, running her hands down her chest and stomach, resting between her thighs under the ribbon silk.

Ori's eyes widen and her breath hitches. Gloved hands crawl up the corset to the brim of the top hat. It is pulled further down the nose, the dancing woman throws her head back and smiles.

Ori doesn't know where to look, settles for the tantalising curve between Thorin's breasts as the taller woman leans in, running her hands on the lapels on Ori's ornamental waistcoat. Thorin leans in so far, Ori can bury her face between her breasts and she inhales deep, enjoying the lightly perfumed scent and is unable to keep herself from licking it. 

Thorin pulls Ori's face up, cupping her jaw with both hands and spreading her fingers down her throat. She nuzzles their lips together, turning away everytime Ori tries to catch hers, laughs, pecks her on her cheek. Ori protests, Thorin responds with untying her tie and pulling her arms up and back, over the lounge seat, tying them in place at the wrist. 

Ori incapacitated, Thorin proceeds to unbutton her waistcoat and chemise. This leaves Ori bare chested, her breathing accelerates, her nipples harden. Thorin cocks her head to the side, drags her hands on the exposed breasts.

Ori whines at the confusing sensations of velour on erect skin, a sound Thorin tries to coax out with tweaking, rubbing, squeasing, pulling. Pulling one glove off by the teeth, she enjoys the feel of heated breast under her fingers, barely fitting in her palm. It send shivers down her spine, knowing that she literaly holds one centre of pleasure, among others, of Ori's in her hand, for her to keep and treasure and _control_.

Oh, how Ori is fetching in a man's costume, waistcoat and trouser suit flattering her boyish figure.

Now that Thorin has Ori where she wants her, she reaches down and pulls the trousers from under her bum. Ori, dizzy and rather desperate, simply complies, raising her pelvis and let Thorin pull off one leg, leaving her asymmetrically bare. She pulls her knee as close to her shoulder as she could, exposing her dripping sex to cool air and curious eyes and hungry fingers.

Ori's attempt at distraction don't work quite as well as she wants. Instead of plungeing knickle-deep into her cunt and massaging her into  frenzy, Thorin just turns, undoes the the bow on her arse, and turns back, revealing her own swollen sex to her hungry love.

From the table besides the chair, Thorin pours herself a scotch, taking a spi and sharing it with Ori, before reaching for the double-ended fake cock. She rubs Ori's cunt with it, soaking and slathering it, and causing Ori to shake with anticipation. Thorin guides Ori face so that her gaze falls between them, and slowly pushes the dripping wet end into herself,

Thorin drops her head onto Ori's soulder, shaking at the thought of Ori's wetness inside herself.

She pushes forward when she feels a shoed foot rubs on her stockinged leg, sock garters nearly tearing holes into her delicate covers. So Thorin pushes Ori's legs up and out of the way, making room for herself to kneel on the lounge chair on one knee, and guides the head of the protruding silicon into the folded figure beneath her.

Soon, Ori is dissatisfied with the slow, hard pace Thorin chooses. She lets go of the head of the chair and moves her hands to Thorin's neck, knocking off the top hat and releasing the silky waterfall of hair. It fell over Thorin's shoulders, rivulets trailing down her back and shoulders, tickling Ori's face as she pulls Thorin down for a kiss.

Thankfully, she receives one this time, and she swoons, relishing the waxy stick of every one of Thorin's moves against her neck, her cheek, her mouth. Thorin bit and chewed, licked and sucked, absorbed all of Ori through her tongue and lips, stealing her breath with smothering love and rough thrusts.

When the need for air becomes too strong Ori tears her face away from Thorin's and gasps desperately, Every few thrusts, she finds herself convulsing and trying to push off the bigger woman, fruitlessly, something Thorin quickly solves with simple physics, pinning the smaller woman to the chair with a taller body and heavier mass.

Ori stares at the cieling, helplessly pinned, absenmindedly wondering whether her lover is anywhere near as lost in the pleasures of the flesh as she was. Heat spirals up her spine, her sensible bob cut utterly messed about by now, fingers deep into Thorin's back and legs shakingly tight around the corsetted waist.

The restrained ribcage beneath her fingers heave, Thorin's bloody red lips snarl and whimper and beg in her ear, making sweet, dark promises, whispering cruelly of whips and harnesses and fucking in public that she just can't ignore.

Exhaustted, Ori and Thorin slide down onto the carpeted floor. They hold each other, catching their breath, when Thorin rolls over, keeping Ori underneath her, and moves her pelvis until she releases the dildo. Ori moves her head to the side, rather embarrassed at being left debauchedly disrobed, trousers hanging off one legs, shoes one, breasts bare and frames by unbuttoned vest and blouse.

Thorin rearranges them, herself leaning against a colletion of pillows, Ori leaning back against her. The corest is elsewhere, they are covered in a blanket, resting.

Thorin holds her closer, hands running down to her sex, fingers tracing the moisture leaking out, pulling at the labia, pinching, stretching. Ori, with no time to recover, grabs Thorin's hands when fingers venture within her. 

Pouting, Thorin stole a kiss. There was no rush.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm hoping this picks up. :)
> 
> Ori in a three piece suit.
> 
> Thorin in heels, tights, corset.
> 
> there is absolutely NO GUARANTEE that other Femslash Friday piece i contribute will be anywhere near as long, or as good, sorry.
> 
> and fucking hell, every time i want to finish it, close the paragraph, end it all, it just went on and on and on.
> 
> please, comment or kudos or chuck it out of the window or hide under the blanket, but whatever you do, i hope you liked it.


End file.
